


In Reflection

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Character Study, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Nudity, Self-Indulgent, multiple pairings implied - Freeform, needles mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26218723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: Aphelios studies himself in the mirror one moonlit night, and wonders.
Relationships: Aphelios/Various
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	In Reflection

Soft snores become fainter still as he pads his way through the calm night air. Noxian nights are cold but nothing compared to home. He feels no difference as the silken sheet, a token attempt at modesty, slips from his shoulders. It cascades past his hips and pools about his feet, bloody crimson against the grey stone floor. He steps past it. Left bare before a wide expanse of silvered glass -he simply watches, gazes, at his own impassive reflection.

A strip of moonlight plays across the glass. It shimmers across sweat-slickened hair. Dances across every bruise and scar as if acknowledging his service. Aphelios finds himself tracing the lines of ink long etched into his skin. Exposed, they strike a deep contrast to the surrounding paleness. They invoke a longing to explore, like the dark lines of a map sketched on fresh parchment. Fingertips feather soft against his cheek, Aphelios knows many have wondered whether the ink continues past his chin. Thumb against his lip, his tongue darts out impulsively to moisten the tip. He tastes salt, and perhaps a little wine, before his touch drops to his chest. To one of many crescents that adorned his seemingly-delicate frame.

He has been told he looks fragile. Small, pale, pretty… Never weak though. It’s part of his allure, he’s discovered. Somehow, it’s irresistible to know that the “sweet little thing” could kill you as easily as he could acquiesce. To know his silence isn’t born of fear, but the sign of something much deadlier. Aphelios has never thought he looked fragile. Not when he can remember the source of every one of these scars. Not when he can recall the hours of endless training, the way his body was shaped and changed, the unrelenting pain…

It had hurt - being tattooed from face to ankle. At that time, it was the worst pain he’d ever experienced. Now however, it seemed like nothing. A light touch across his stomach brought back a recollection of many needles at once. Of biting into thick leather. Of being held in place by hands as thick as his shaking thighs. Of Alune, shedding the tears he’d refused to shed as she changed his bandages and apologised for what had never been her fault. He’d wanted to cry. As she held him, gently, as to not agitate the rawness of his skin. But they had told him, if he couldn’t handle the pain of his markings, how was he ever going to last as a warrior on the battlefield? The Lunari needed strong fighters not sobbing adolescents. So, he hadn’t cried. He hasn’t cried in so long now.

Aphelios isn’t fragile, but he lets others think he is. He allows others to underestimate him - much to their cost. He knows his allure. Lunari are a rare sight amongst Noxians and it tends to be Noxians who have the information he needs. He is not above using what he is to get what he wants. He has already given his body to the Lunari. They have claimed it with their ink. So why not use his body for their goals? He looks at it in the mirror as a little spend trickles down the smooth skin of his inner thigh. Watching it drip over a thick band of ink, he considers cleaning himself up before departing with the dawn.

He has amassed a number of contacts from his visits. Of course, he does not offer his body to all of them. Some are simply more open to negotiation when he places his own beauty upon the table. On the first occasion, he had surprised even himself. His contact-to-be had suggested he’d be more agreeable once they had got to know one another. Aphelios had somewhat naively consented and well, once he realised his contact’s intentions, he had bravely persevered. Alune had been shocked. Even more so when he was willing to repeat the encounter. _You needn’t go so far Aphelios. What will those at home think when they find out?_

The priestesses don’t know what methods he uses to procure the information he needs. As long as he delivers, they do not ask. If they did, he would reason that his body is a tool of the Lunari and should he not use every tool at his disposal? Once Alune understood this logic, she stopped trying to dissuade him - focusing her efforts on keeping him safe through the more dangerous parts of his missions. She knows by now when to avert her gaze. It is admittedly hard to induce lust in himself or another whilst in the company of his sister.

He is the perfect weapon, the Lunari’s perfect tool. But when he looks at himself like this - hair tousled, lips reddened, bruises about his hip and thighs, he wonders. Maybe there’s something more, something else. Maybe, just maybe, he enjoys being beautiful. Perhaps he likes being treated softly. Even if only for brief glimpses at a time, he sees what it was like to be treasured. To be handled gently, with reverence, with respect. Even if things got a little rougher later on, he is allowed to set his own boundaries. Here he doesn’t have to do as he’s told. He does because their words make him feel, well, wanted. Special. Desired. More than just a trigger in the dark. More than a tool or a weapon. Something worthy of being touched. 

It’s intoxicating. Being touched. Especially by such handsome men, who make him feel just a little less numb and a little more special. He chooses carefully before soliciting a contact. Often, they believe they have made the first move. They proceed as if they have wooed him into their bed by cherishing him, spoiling him… Perhaps they have on more than one occasion. It’s still a little overwhelming, being plied with fine food and compliments, in the lap of such luxurious men. But only when I need them, he tells himself, only when they’re useful to me. _Be careful,_ Alune often reminds him, _These men are just as eager to use you. Don’t fall for them_.

He would never. This is just part of the mission. Just one step in many to better the Lunari’s goals. He would never endanger his assignment, just to chase the sensation of being touched. He would never abandon his purpose just to understand a bit more of what it was like to be special. To be cared for. When the dawn comes, and he is long gone, distraction procured, transaction made…When it’s time to be alone again, he will feel the ghost of hands upon his skin. Reflection still impassively gazing back at him, he can’t help but trace the lines upon his thighs where lips had once been. He shouldn’t miss it. This is business. This is one part of the mission, nothing more, nothing less. If this never happens again, it will be no loss to the Lunari. Therefore, no loss to him. He doesn’t need praise. He doesn’t need gentleness. He doesn’t crave this. He doesn’t need another’s touch to feel whole. 

_Oh Aphelios…_

He lets his hands hang limply by his sides. We should go, he tells Alune, who thankfully neglects to comment on his strange position. I’ve got what I need. She says nothing as he slips back into the opulent bedchamber, picking up his fallen garments, with all the silence and grace of a cat-burglar here to plunder such luxury. He dresses quickly, so fast that he is only short one glove by the time the sleeping contact realises anything is amiss. He rolls over in his throne of pillows, letting out a groan of:

“Must you?”

Aphelios simply nods. Picking up the errant glove, he slips it on before he can entertain a second thought.

He must. 

He doesn’t want to, but he must.


End file.
